


Under the Crescent Moon Shine

by Anticipatio



Category: Campaign (Podcast), Campaign Podcast, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Sex, Awkward Dates, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Family Issues, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, References to Knotting, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Inexperience, Sexual Tension, Sloppy Makeouts, Xenophilia, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-24 09:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anticipatio/pseuds/Anticipatio
Summary: Zero knows that Blue's full of hot air with his only functioning brain cells dedicated to his own success. And maybe it's foolish to have hope that he can be any different.But in the dim lights on an evening out, he thinks there might be a chance.





	1. Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [_In the night sky, where it’s just the two of us_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16040588) by [vands88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vands88/pseuds/vands88).

Finding a holoflick to watch with a date shouldn’t be this hard.

“I’m just _saying,_ ” Blue insists, leaned back in the copilot’s seat with his feet kicked up on the dash, “That _Pericles, Prince of Toydaria_ is a _classic_ comedic tragedy, and that I can say for certain that you’d enjoy the whole irony of—”

“Do you even know what a date _is?_ ” Zero interrupts, exhausted by the conversation. He’s already had to deal with Blue suggesting overly-produced dramas with unsatisfyingly unresolved endings, so moving onto overly-produced dramatic remakes of barely tolerable classic comedies isn’t much of an improvement.

“It’ll have so much we can talk about!”

Zero sighs loudly and sits his chair back, setting the autopilot. He feels like this’ll take a while. “So, here’s the thing, not that picking apart movies doesn’t sound fun—” it doesn’t, “—but _I_ think it’d be nice to just… talk. Like _normal people_ who don’t have a binding contract.” This is sounding more and more like a bad idea.

The prospect seems to make Blue a little nervous. It’s hard to tell, sometimes, since his moods are only outwardly visible in the extremes, but the corners of his mouth twitch and his fingers dig into the eye sockets of his cane’s head. “We already know, like, everything about each other, though—”

“ _I_ know everything about _you,_ ” Zero grumbles, “Do you even know how many siblings I have?”

“You have siblings?”

“We’re going to watch a romcom, it’ll be terrible and shallow, and then we’ll go out to eat _like normal people._ ” He thinks for just a moment, then adds, “And so help me god, if there’s a band—”

“Fine! No band, but can we at least eat somewhere classier than, I dunno, Bantha Burger?”

“Why would I…? _Yes,_ Blue, we’re going to go to an actual restaurant on our _date,_ like—”

“Normal people! I get it!” Blue snips. He squares his feet on the floor and rests his elbows on his knees, turning his face away to presumably try to hide the blush that reaches the tips of his ears. “How long until landfall?” he asks, like he can’t just turn back around to check the ETA himself, obviously trying to divert the conversation.

Zero gives in, just because arguing makes him tired and he doesn’t want to be in a bad mood tonight of all nights. He considers taking a shot before they leave. “An hour. Movie starts in three.”

\--

They’re stopping in Naboo for a few days. Synox was invited to be a special guest on a talk show, and filming is going to be taking place while they’re on planet. Blue is, of course, going to oversee the handling of his special boy on the program—Force forbid anyone else tries to take charge of Synox’s hair and makeup—but otherwise has no hand in the production. Which leaves free time. For _dates._

Zero should be more excited. This is, after all, what he wanted. But, the _last_ thing he wants to do is damage control for their relationship when it _should_ be progressing, and his dumb anxiety brain can’t stop thinking of all the worst scenarios that could happen. What if Blue wears _khakis?_

Whatever. There isn’t much to do now that Zero’s plans are in motion. Reservations made, movie finally decided on, speederbike rented… all there’s left to do is to plan his whole look. He has to dig something out that he hadn’t worn before if he wants to impress. Which is pretty hard, since Blue makes it a point to be involved with Zero’s style in almost every way. But there are a few pieces, things that he orders for himself off the holo when he’s drunk, or when the insomnia kicks in and Blue’s busy with god-knows-what. 

Like a fitted emerald green peacoat. Oh yeah. It’s _double breasted._

His mobility is shot, and his arm isn’t exposed for the intimidation factor, but his waist is gonna look _so_ waspish with some sleek slacks.

But… what if the outfit is too civilian? Blue outright said that he likes Zero’s scary appearance, and he doesn’t want to lose that appeal on such an important occasion. He glances at one of his showier arms, chromed and polished to a mirror finish. It’s one he almost never wears _because_ it’s so conspicuous, and the chrome shine doesn’t exactly go with the gunmetal buttons of his coat, but it’ll certainly draw Blue’s eye.

By the time he’s done hemming and hawing over his appearance, there’s maybe an hour left before they should head out. He thinks about calling Aava for a pep talk, but she’s on an undercover mission and he’d feel really dumb for blowing it over date anxiety. There’s Synox, but… no. And he’s not really familiar enough with any of the troopers to talk with them about this stuff frankly.

So he basically spends forty-five minutes stewing in his own anxiety, staring at his reflection in his dusty mirror, in his mostly-unoccupied quarters. The moment that time is up, though, he stands straight-backed and marches purposefully to Blue’s room.

The door is, predictably, locked. Zero could theoretically slice into the locking mechanism to get in, but he’s not _that_ desperate. Yet. He knocks instead, rapping against the metal with the back of his organic hand, calling out, “C’mon, Blue, we gotta get going—”

As he’s speaking, the door slides open. Blue looks _very_ nervous, probably the most nervous Zero has ever seen him, leg twitching and his hands rubbing over the top of his cane. He also looks adorable, if eccentric. It’s mostly the snakeskin shoes and the busy paisley pattern of his tie that throws Zero off, because he’s otherwise kept it surprisingly lowkey: solid dress shirt, dark slacks, the promised half-windsor knot…

He also doesn’t have a jacket. It shouldn’t be _that_ cold, but Blue is so thin that he’s almost always freezing unless the sun is directly on him. The only cold-blooded human in existence. Zero doesn’t point that out.

“Oh, you’re ready,” Zero says dumbly. He winces and hurriedly adds, “You look good.”

Blue has a wobbly expression at the compliment. He normally _loves_ compliments, but maybe things are finally starting to sink in. He gives Zero one quick scan before looking away, uncharacteristically bashful, “You do too.”

“We should probably…”

“Oh, yeah. Lead the way.”

It’s painfully silent for the few minutes it takes to get to the bike. And for the few moments it takes to get on the bike, but that part’s a unique brand of purgatory for Zero’s emotional state.

A knot forms in his throat, a tangle of conflicting emotions that makes him nauseous. See, Blue’s ridden with him before—he’s _only_ ever been on speederbikes with Zero—so at this point he’s well aware of how he should sit. Suddenly, on this day, at this moment, he can’t seem to figure it out, and it’s almost like he’s trying to get on without being in any physical contact with Zero. The roil of dumb, irrational feelings doesn’t provide any obvious solutions; Zero’s equally disappointed that Blue isn’t hugging his waist in a familiar gesture and relieved that he doesn’t have to think about the way his body tingles where they touch.

In the end, they’re only barely brushing against each other, and Blue is holding onto his shoulders in a much more platonic manner. Maybe the disappointment is just a little stronger than he’d like to admit. Zero revs the bike, soothed in the unnecessary roar as it starts up. It gives him something to focus on other than the warmth of Blue’s hands seeping through the fabric of his coat.

\--

When they get to the theater, Blue jumps off the bike like he’s been burned, and _now_ Zero’s starting to get annoyed. “Shall we?” Blue says, and, as if this were a mission, turns to start walking by himself, trusting that Zero follows behind. But it’s not a mission, and Zero wants to make a point of that.

So he takes the few large steps he needs to reach Blue’s side and slithers his hand to rest on his lower back. Zero can feel how he immediately stiffens, spine ramrod straight with the unexpectedly intimate touch. Blue gives him a strange look, blushing hard, something Zero’s never seen on his face before. He’s not mad or embarrassed, this is… something to examine later. Blue turns to look straight ahead, expression going carefully neutral. Zero laughs, “After you, Adnau.”

The screening room is sparsely populated this late at night, and there doesn’t seem to be a person without a date. A few couples are already necking, off in the corners where they think they’re safe from prying eyes, while the others glare at their antics. Zero guides Blue as far back as they can get, trying not to distract himself with how the commercials playing cast him in a dramatic shadow that highlights his sharp features, the handsome crook of his nose, the flicker of his long, pale lashes when he blinks…

_Focus._

He doesn’t really have the same plans as the more affectionate couples, but he’s a hopeless romantic, and any amount of privacy feels more genuine. Hence, back of the theater. 

It is funny, Zero thinks as he watches Blue fidget in the corner of his eye, how much the idiot spouted about ‘holding hands’ this and ‘showing off’ that, only to shrink into himself like a tortoise in its shell the moment he’s actually confronted with the reality of the situation. Sure, Blue _does_ normally talk big, but he’s also usually eager to try to follow up, even if it’s reckless to do so. This is completely new in a different way than he’s used to, and it’s pretty obviously messing with him. Blue doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Zero as his date.

_Adorable._

The flick starts. It’s low budget, and most of the jokes right off the bat are hit and miss, but Blue’s pretending to be enraptured. Pretending, because he keeps glancing at Zero, and he impatiently taps his fingers against the armrest between them. That’s the nice thing about the helmet: Zero can face the holo while keeping his eyes on Blue and his internal struggles. It’s almost more entertaining than the movie, but also a little painful. Zero resigns himself to making the first move again.

He puts his hand over Blue’s and coils his fingers to weave them together. Blue actually _shivers,_ and his breath hitches with his excitement. If he looks closely, Zero thinks he can see him vibrating. He draws soothing circles into the side of Blue’s hand, which probably won’t do much to calm him down, but it’s fun, and Zero’s a sap. 

The movie isn’t even particularly interesting enough to catch his attention. There are a few parts that make him snort out a soft laugh, but he’s basically spaced out for an hour and twenty minutes, focused entirely on the slow, _very_ slow release of tension in Blue’s body as time passes. Hell, he’s probably not paying a lot of attention to the movie, either. 

When the lights fade back on as the credits roll, Blue kind of has to squint and blink as his eyes adjust, and Zero physically restrains himself from projecting any kind of emoji that’d reveal how his heart coos at the sight. Unfortunately, the end of the film also means the end of whatever relaxed state Blue ended up in, and he’s immediately drawn tight like a violin string, shoulders squared. 

The separation of their hands is a little frustrating, because Blue was starting to become an active participant in the idle touching and drawing. Still, at least he gives Zero just the hint of a show with a long, lithe stretch. It highlights the thinness of his frame and the cat-like flexibility of his spine, and Zero has to halt his thoughts from going too far off the deep end. 

He checks his chrono. “We’re a little early. Could take the scenic route.”

“What you and I consider scenic might be a little different.”

“Aw, c’mon, give me some credit,” Zero says playfully, “The city lights are pretty nice from high up.”

“Fine,” Blue sighs, but Zero doesn’t miss the slight uptick of his lips. 

\--

The great thing about the shiny arm is how nice it looks when they start driving through the brighter districts, the greens and pinks and blues that flicker across the chromed finish of his exposed hand like strobe lights. Blue is only marginally more comfortable behind Zero, very slightly leaning into his back. Zero knows can see how he’s staring at the passing lights in the reflection, and wonders if it reminds him of slicing. Blue’s arms creep to encircle Zero’s chest, and he’s grateful that the roar of wind overshadows his pleased sigh.

Not that he doesn’t like Blue—it should be obvious how infatuated he is—but driving around on a bike is one of those times where Zero can enjoy Blue’s company, no strings attached. No rants about deadlines this or contracts that. Just the two of them weaving expertly between buildings and speeders, all sound drowned out by the snarling engine. Their private chat never even pings because, while Zero sure as hell wouldn’t be able to answer while driving anyway, Blue usually seems too relaxed to bother. Usually. 

Blue’s all alien warmth between his shoulder blades and jittery anxiety, with a shuddering in his hands that wring just over Zero’s heart. Even if he’s more comfortable now, he’s still a mess of a person, and the fact that dinner could be a total disaster in it of itself hangs in the air above them. With their luck, they can expect rebel forces to take someone hostage mid-meal. Maybe Blue would like that. Dinner and a show. 

\--

The place is too fancy for most folk to eat at. A lot of Naboo is middle class, stuck in the perpetual worry of paying bills while still having the luxury of eating at chain restaurants. Blue most definitely does not fit that description. He’s _absurdly_ rich, to the point where they didn’t even have to fight to get on some sort of waiting list. A little bribe here, an vague threat there, and they were in. A private booth, too, in a dark corner where no one could see such a scandalous sight. 

That’s also why they sat in the back of the theater, but it hurts Zero a little to think of it like that. There’s nothing illegal about a High Minister being in a relationship with an alien—or a bodyguard, for that matter. It’s certainly not good for a career in Imperial politics, though. Xenophilia is reserved for the lower classes and the outcasts. _Especially_ if it involves ganks. 

Whatever. The Empire can jerk themselves off as much as they want, so long as they don’t get in Zero’s way. 

As soon as they’re seated, Zero abandons all illusion of decorum by leaning with his elbows on the table, head in his hands. Blue looks at him witheringly, and he decides to play coy, flashing a pleasant smile on his screen. 

It’s enough to make Blue blush a little, because he’s just that easy to tease. Their server droid puts down two cups of caf, and Blue pulls them both towards himself without thought. Zero doesn’t say anything. 

“S-so,” Blue mumbles around the lip of a mug, hiding behind his caf. His voice is slow, cautious. “You said something about siblings earlier.”

“What’s that?” Zero says with faux surprise, “You want to hear about li’l ol’ _me?_ ”

“You make it sound like I never listen to you.”

“You don’t, usually, but I’ll humor you.” Blue looks a little sour at being called out, but at least has enough self-awareness to not combat the claim. “Was raised ‘round a few cousins that were basically like brothers and sisters.”

“But no _actual_ siblings?”

“Went along with a pack at one point that I’m pretty sure was run by, like, a first cousin once removed, or something?” Zero continues, like he didn’t hear Blue’s question. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned family in the first place. He doesn’t want to talk about the tragedy that is his familial ties, especially not on a date. “It’s weird. Lotta us are distantly related, and there are a _lot_ of us.” He thinks for a moment then adds, “Like your family, I guess.”

Blue preens at the mention of his noble genealogy, the egotistical bastard. Thankfully, before he can derail with more self-absorbed, scripted and rehearsed bragging, the droid comes back to take their orders. This is the kind of place with, like, a thousand courses of itty bitty plates, which always kind of annoyed Zero. He likes to have everything in front of him at once; he wants to make his own decision on what to eat, when, and how. Still, Blue’s ever-shifting moods are put at ease in his natural habitat, and Zero can’t say he doesn’t like to see him act with such control. It’s soothing. 

Well. The faint heat swirling in Zero’s stomach suggests that it’s a little more than that. 

Whatever. “I’ll just have what he’s having.”

Blue rolls his eyes, but it’s affectionate. Playful, even. They both know that they at least have similar taste in food, if nothing else. It’s the only time when it’s a safe bet to play by Blue’s rules. 

“Anyway,” Zero starts, derailing Blue’s thoughts before he can go on his tangent about his lineage or whatever. Maintaining a conversation is going to become exhausting. “Bounced around a lot, lotta packs, lotta folk. Figured out pretty quick that I like to run solo.”

They go quiet. Zero knows that it’s foolish to expect Blue to continue a conversation, but there’s a little hope in him. It’s been going well so far, right? His expectations are smothered as quickly as a ping in Blue’s glasses. Zero can see the brightness of the alert in the dim lighting, and both of them go tense. For different reasons. Blue is immediately distracted, glasses going opaque as he brings up any number of apps. Zero frowns deeply, lets it project onto his faceplate, and grumbles, “Really?”

“What?” Blue says, innocently, portable keyboard already out. 

“Come on, you’re an idiot—”

“Hey!”

“—but even _you_ gotta know when it’s a bad time to _work._ ”

“I—oh.” Zero feels a little bad, because Blue sheepishly powers down his glasses, like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Hell, he probably forgot that this was a date, as opposed to a normal outing. It’s not like they never go out to eat. Still, the atmosphere, the context, he _should_ have more control over his impulses. 

It’s aggravating that he doesn’t even apologize, just shoves his stuff aside like nothing ever happened. Zero hates the silence that falls over them because it’s _so_ familiar, so very much like the calm right before they bicker the night away. He wants to put the effort in to fix it, but Blue’s an exhausting person, and they haven’t even gotten their first course yet. 

Blue taps his fingers across the table and looks at the wall with purpose. The lighting is just a touch too moody to see it plainly, but Zero’s visor instantly picks up on the flash of heat that colors Blue’s cheeks. “I don’t know how to do _this,_ ” he mumbles. 

“You sure talk a big game.”

“I thought it’d be easier.”

“It _is_ easy,” Zero scolds, “You’re just inept at personal relationships.”

“I like to feel in control,” Blue elaborates, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious, “I don’t feel like I’m in control in ‘personal relationships’—” he raises his hands in air quotes, like he’s never heard of the very concept, “—especially with you. You’re unpredictable.”

The droid comes back and silently places plates in front of them, something fancy on bread, but neither of them budge. Not until it leaves and Zero can privately sigh, “That’s because I don’t just bend to your every whim, Blue.”

“Even though that’s precisely what I pay you to do.”

“I don’t like thinking of you as my boss.”

Blue raises an eyebrow. The tension doesn’t shatter, but there’s a spiderweb crack forming where Zero can press until it breaks. It’s enough relief that Blue mindlessly chews at his appetizer without once looking away. “I want us to be on equal footing,” Zero says, poking at the speckled cream on his little toast thing. He thinks of the day when he asked Blue to the gala, of what he said after the harebrained scheme to find a date that ended with Zero cracking. _I’m on your level._ “I don’t wanna just be your underling.”

“So you chastise me to show dominance.”

“No, I chastised you because you were _working._ ”

“Because I don’t know what else to do!” Blue whisper-yells. The flush of his face grows hotter, indignant, and Zero rolls his eyes. Doesn’t project a digital equivalent, because now’s not the time to be escalating, but _boy_ is the temptation there. Blue exhales, releasing some of his obvious aggravation, “I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal.”

“Well, put away your defense mechanisms and pull yourself up by your bootstraps, ‘cause I want to see some effort outta you.”

“You sound like a drill sergeant.”

“Think of it like this,” Zero says, steepling his fingers like he’s in a business meeting, “You’re being expected, right now, to interact with me in a meaningful way.” The droid brings them soup. “I know your little human brain’s thinking of, like, a billion other things, but I want you to pay attention to _me._ ”

“Okay,” Blue concedes, staring at the layer of oil that slicks the surface of his soup, “I can—I’ll try.”

Zero lifts his helmet to eat his toast thing, dipping it first like the uncouth individual that he is. Any texture other than liquid nutrient paste in his mouth feels weird. The closer he can get his food to that, the better. 

If Blue has an issue with his unsightly mannerisms, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he sips daintily from his spoon, watching Zero from over his glasses. Zero likes the look of his eyes behind the tech-tinted glass, crisp and bright but not at all unfriendly. Crystal clear like the gentle reach of sea water crawling over a white, sandy beach. 

He’s almost too distracted in his thoughts to hear Blue say, “So tell me something I don’t know.”

“Hm.” It’s complicated, because Blue knows Zero as random bits of a whole puzzle: he can see the picture it forms, but not clearly. There are missing pieces everywhere, nuances that might be missed if it’s not finished. But a lot of those nuances are intimate, about the broken machine that is Zero’s body or his broken relationship with his broken family and his broken species. About how weird he is. An alien amongst aliens. Still, he fishes something up, something innocuous, “I used to draw.”

“Used to?”

“It was something I could do during hunts when I was bored.” Zero likes the way the soup leaves a light sheen of oil on his lips, and how the richness sits warm and comforting in his stomach. It smooths over some of the edge from their near-fight that left a sharp point in his temper. He licks his lips, not missing the way Blue’s eyes track the movement, and elaborates, “I only really got okay at drawing plants, ‘cause that was usually the only thing around.”

Blue’s eyes fix back on his faceplate, which has always been funny to Zero. He knows it’s Blue trying to be polite with eye contact, but Zero almost never actually meets it under his helmet. He’s always looking elsewhere, whether to keep a lookout for danger or just because there’s something interesting going on in the corner of his eye, like an old, portly human vainly trying to impress a young togruta woman at the table just beyond their private booth. He’s gotten good at splitting his attention. 

“That seems like a useful skill,” Blue points out, “If you’re out trying to survive and figure out what’s good to eat or something.”

“I mean, sure, but I never underpacked.” The droid brings them pasta. Zero _loves_ pasta. Best carbohydrate by far, especially to someone who’s sick of the hardtack-type breads and crackers in MREs.

“What if you did, though? Like, hypothetically.”

Zero isn’t stupid, he just likes to be difficult. “Never would,” he mumbles around a mouthful of noodles. Blue snorts and bites into his own, rolling his eyes, not taking the bait. Or, well, he kind of is. The exasperated reaction is enough for Zero. 

“You should draw me something,” Blue says. It kind of surprises Zero; Blue has a collection of fine art, on Mandalore. _In storage._ His only interest in it is to show off his wealth and accrue more. Or, at least that’s the impression Zero gets. The Bluebird, after all, has nothing of the sort on display. It’s all clean, uninterrupted lines. Zero just can’t imagine Blue hanging one of his doodles on the refrigerator with a little gold star, is the thing. 

But something in Zero is warmed, and he grins, “Sure.” He could leave it at that, but his mouth runs without his permission sometimes, and he adds, voice tinged with adoration, “Whatever you want.”

Blue blushes again. It’s cute when he does, discoloring the freckles on his cheeks until they look like maroon stars on a bed of peach. That’s one reason Zero likes to rile Blue up, even unintentionally, because it’s one of those human things that’s always fascinated him. Makes him wonder how far the blush extends. 

Nope, nope, back to reality. Can’t be going around thinking those things on a first date. 

Blue takes sudden interest in the droid as it putters back over with their entrées, finally. Steak, hell yeah. Delicious enough to be distracting.

It’s hard to look dignified as a gank eating meat, which is one reason he can muster where he’s glad they’re hidden away. Blue doesn’t even seem fazed when Zero’s teeth click menacingly as he tears through the chunk on his fork, or when some of the juice drips back onto the plate from the grisly bite. Zero’s mouth isn’t really made for forks. The shape is only slightly off, but the twang of metal against the sharp points of his teeth makes his head hurt and his eyes go cross, so he just rips bits from his fork like he’s carving from a rotisserie spit to avoid the risk entirely. Chopsticks are much neater, and he’s mad they’re not more widely used. 

They’re talking between bites, sometimes in stilted half-conversations when Blue’s stumped, but they’re talking. Zero likes this, the mixture of Blue laughing about some dumb video he has to describe since it’s from one of his social media feeds and the irate rambling of an off-duty politician that may very well be considered unauthorized disclosure of classified information. Gossiping, playful teasing, skirting around awkward silences with small talk, more teasing… It’s mundane enough to be novel to Zero, and probably to Blue. 

Dessert comes while they’re in a heated debate about who on the ship they’d eat first if things went south. Lo and behold, it _is_ something that needs to be shared, as prophesized by Blue on the night of the gala. A small sponge cake, made for two, smelling strongly of coffee liquor with buttercream frosting and delicately piped chocolate lace. Almost too pretty to eat. 

Almost. 

Zero has such a bad sweet tooth that he’s snuck sugar cubes from the mess to snack on. And if Blue is a caf addict, then he’s an outright _junkie_ for coffee. His eyes even dilate as soon as the scent reaches his pathetic human nose. 

“Halve it,” Zero demands, at the ready in case Blue tries to go for it. He knows he’s faster, but Blue’s _wily._

“That _is_ the natural assumption, but—”

“I drove.”

“ _I’m paying._ ” Blue’s getting serious, standing with his hands on the table to hover menacingly. 

“I stopped that hitman from Jakar’s widow—”

“You were fairly compensated—”

“Fifty-fifty or I walk,” Zero snarls. Blue glares daggers; he _must_ be thinking about the credibility of Zero’s threat. They’re both stubborn bastards, but Zero’s ready for it. 

Blue snaps, “Fine!” He falls back into his chair with a defeated huff.

Zero uses his stupid math implant to divide the cake as exactly in half as he can manage. He’d cheat, but Blue has some kind of targeting algorithm built into his glasses that lets him do the same kind of calculation. It lights up his face in a pale blue light. 

They abuse combat-ready technologies way too often. 

The warlike tension between them immediately relaxes with the distribution of the goods. It’s easy to forgive and forget after the first bite, because, _karking hell,_ it’s _good._ Blue hums his delight, bordering on a moan. At least Zero can lie to himself and attribute the shiver that wracks him to the cake rather than the sound. “Good deal,” he says brightly, “Nice doing business with you.”

Blue preens, swaying in his seat. Zero has no idea how he became such a hedonist. After all, most of Blue’s life was strictly regimented with very little allowance for pleasure. Maybe that’s why, Zero thinks bitterly. Maybe he’s making up for what he missed. Things like cake and films and speederbike rides through the city and _dates._ Zero watches Blue, watches how slowly he eats his dessert, how he takes so much time to enjoy each bite. He wants to spoil Blue so badly. 

He doesn’t even realize time has passed until he looks down to see nothing but crumbs on his plate. The droid comes back to take their money, but Blue blindly transfers a significant chunk of funds before it can even provide them with a check. Rich bastard. 

\--

It’s late. The night life of the city is in full swing, as evidenced by the raucous cheering overlaid by the thunderous boom of the nearby nightclubs. Blue sneers as they step out the door. Zero stares longingly but resists the temptation. Another night. Maybe he’ll even take Blue, to show him what he’s missing. 

When his attention returns to Blue, Zero catches him shivering. A fall breeze is sweeping through their little street, whipping Blue’s hair up ever so softly. Cinematically, even. It’s a scene straight out of the type of shitty romcom they watched earlier, where the main character’s love interest is caught unexpected by the elements. Except, this time, Zero knows that Blue _had_ to know what the weather would be like. He has a widget in his glasses, for god’s sake. 

Clever little shit. 

Zero smiles secretly behind his faceplate, knowing. Blue is purposefully not looking at him, suddenly interested in the glow of a billboard advertising an alcoholic beverage, huddling his limbs close until he’s basically hugging his cane. “Here,” Zero offers, suppressing a chuckle. He shoulders off his coat—it’s not like he needs it, anyway, when he has internal temperature controls—and hangs it over Blue’s shoulders.

Blue blinks up at him, looking diminutive in the oversized coat, and grins. Too victorious to be innocent. “Thanks,” he murmurs, demure. He slips his arms into the sleeves gleefully, even though they go well over his hands. 

He looks good in green. It’s almost artistic, with the splash of red and hint of icy blue from under his pale lashes. Zero knows that he has a brand to maintain, but he thinks it’s almost a shame that Blue doesn’t dress as colorfully as he is. Backlit in neon, Blue looks like he belongs in a painting. 

This time, he doesn’t flinch When Zero wraps an arm around his waist. It’s not quite a familiar gesture—his face still dusts with pink, but Blue lets himself into Zero’s space a little more. They don’t have to walk far, but they’re in no rush. Zero’s genuinely enjoying Blue’s company, listening to him chatter, responding in kind, actually _conversing._ There were a few bumps in the road, but when aren’t there with the two of them? 

Now, Blue fully and comfortably leans into Zero when they’re on the bike. His arms hug Zero’s middle and he has his face pressed into his spine, even though it can’t be particularly comfortable with the exposed metal plating creating a cold, unyielding surface beneath his shirt. Zero wishes he had a normal body, but he’s also touched that Blue seems to have no issue embracing him despite all of his harsh edges. He thinks about this on the ride back to the ship, trying to suppress the fear in the back of his head that he’s _too_ broken, too much metal, not enough man. 

It’s so easy to chase away the doubts when the corner of Blue’s lips are so close to touching the cybernetics, only separated by a thin layer of fabric. 

\--

The Bluebird is totally silent when they enter. Everyone’s enjoying the Naboo night, even Synox, dragged away from his work by the troopers. The lights flicker on at their presence, and the ship AI hums a greeting to them individually. It’s kind of bumming Zero out, the constant reminders that they’re no longer out and about. That the date is coming to a close. He knows how forgetful Blue is, how easily he falls into old habits, and the thought that the progress they made tonight might not stick sucks. 

They reach Blue’s door, and Zero tries to push the negativity from his head. “Well.”

“Yeah.”

“It was… I had fun,” Zero murmurs. Speaking any louder seems sacrilege in the dead silence of the ship with just the two of them. 

“Yeah,” Blue repeats, his lips ticking up ever so slightly, “This was nice.” His fingers are digging into the eye sockets of his cane again, the only tell Zero can see. Not quite anxious, not with the brightness of his eyes, but… expecting? 

“You can keep the coat, for now,” Zero says. Blue searches his faceplate, looking for something that he can’t possibly see. He can see how Blue is trying to mask something in his own expression, something longing. Zero thinks for a moment. “You look handsome in green.”

While Blue glances away, once again bashful, Zero reaches to pull his helmet off. His hands shake, but he manages to find the releases. The hiss grabs Blue’s attention, and his head shoots up to look at Zero. In that moment, Zero leans in, and he kisses Blue.

Against his lips, Zero can feel the second where Blue goes completely frozen, and momentarily worries that he overstepped his boundaries, that he somehow misunderstood what Blue wanted despite his transparency all night. But then, miraculously, Blue relaxes, eyes fluttering shut, and leans into the kiss.

Whatever insecurities they harbored, Blue’s inability to wrap his head around the concept of romance and Zero struggling to place himself more firmly in Blue’s world, melt away in this instant. Aava tried to describe how the Force feels to Zero once, like how she can run her fingers on the fine strings that connect every living being, even living beings like him with so little left. He thinks he can understand how she feels, now, waxing poetic in his head about the saccharine brush of Blue’s lips against his own, and the supernatural draw between them. 

It’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I, uh.~~
> 
> ~~I _did_ write a sex scene, and I'll probably post that later but... It's nice to write dumb idiots being stupid on dates, y'know?~~
> 
> Oh yeah.
> 
> Also, I maybe made Zero's POV a little too poetic. But I'm goth, so it's not like I can do anything else.


	2. Sweet and Bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the date goes better than expected.

Zero rests the hand not holding his helmet on Blue’s hip, just to have somewhere to put it. That simple touch spurs Blue on, and he coils his fingers into the fur on the back of Zero’s neck. It’s been a long time since he felt the warmth of another person on his bare hide, and Blue _must_ feel the shiver that zips up Zero’s spine from the contact. He’s not deterred, emboldened if anything, pressing them together just a little harder. He’s inexperienced, relying on Zero for some lead, but he’s _eager,_ sighing against his lips and letting his hand instinctually migrate to cup Zero’s jaw.

Zero thought he’d be hesitant at this point, in unfamiliar waters that roil dangerously underneath the boat, but he’s gone from coquettish back to his normal, cocky self. Blue’s tongue peeks out, just slightly, a hint of heat at Zero’s lips, but then he starts to pull away with a wince. Like he somehow thinks he’s doing something wrong or overstaying his welcome or something equally ridiculous. 

And, _oh._ There’s an ache in Zero, something that’s been waiting impatiently for weeks—maybe months—for something like this to happen. The cold air that fills the space left by the moment of passion is agonizing, prodding that tender little point in his soul. So Zero throws caution to the wind, drops his helmet, pushes Blue against his door by his hips, and kisses him again, hotter, certainly less chaste. 

Blue reacts immediately this time, shocked into action. His cane clatters alongside Zero’s helmet. Both of hands wrap around Zero to his back, clawing and twisting into the fabric of his thin shirt. And, _Force,_ he _whimpers._ It’s less of a submissive sound and more of an encouragement, _keep going, don’t stop._

And Zero would be a goddamn fool to stop, crowding Blue into his door, tongue sweeping across the seam of his lips. Maybe this isn’t what either of them had in mind at the start of the evening, but Blue’s pulling Zero closer and following his lead, meeting his tongue halfway. Zero doesn’t forget how little Blue knows, how he obviously doesn’t have a clue what to do with his lips and tongue, their teeth occasionally clicking unpleasantly.

But he’s so warm and soft and, to no one’s surprise, vocal against Zero. Whatever mistakes he’s making are quickly overshadowed by how wonderful his mouth feels. Maybe Zero’s just a sap, but he can’t find fault, not when he’s too distracted with taking Blue’s lower lip between his own. 

He tastes sweet and bitter, like buttercream and coffee, like the fondness in his eyes when he sees Zero in the mornings and the lies he weaves in the afternoons. There’s also something unique to his flavor, something very human and very _Blue._ It’s smooth, with just a hint of sharpness, like good alcohol, and just as intoxicating. Something he can savor at a fancy party as much as he can drown his sorrows in.

As ridiculous and cheesy as it sounds, Zero never wants to stop, because he never wants to lose the memory of this taste. 

It’s getting kind of heavy for the hallway, though. There _shouldn’t_ be anyone on the ship, but there’s no doubt that a potential straggler could hear Blue’s impassioned whining. Zero slaps for the locking mechanism, supporting Blue when the door slides open, because he seemed to be slowly melting into it and it’d be pretty embarrassing for every party involved if he just fell on his ass. He kicks the helmet and cane inside without much care, hiding the evidence, and walks Blue backwards until he can lock the door shut behind them.

Then _Blue_ pushes _Zero_ into the door. He doesn’t know, he _definitely_ doesn’t know, but what he’s doing is making Zero’s brain turn to mush and he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s becoming so hard the slim fit of his pants hurts. Blue’s _bossy,_ and Zero would be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t part of the attraction. Even if Zero’s the one doing deft, wicked things with his tongue, he still feels like he’s being pulled open by the hands that wander shamelessly over his chest, like Blue’s been waiting all night to touch Zero.

He just hopes that Blue avoids touching lower.

~~That’s a lie.~~

When they separate, Blue makes a little _mnah_ sound that makes Zero shudder again, far too turned on to care how obvious he’s being. The fog lifts a little, though, when Blue grumbles wordlessly as he pushes Zero’s coat off himself. He’s definitely overheating with their actions, panting and flushed. Zero smirks toothily, because banter is familiar and breaks any underlying tension that pressures them to perform, “You’re not subtle at all, you know.”

He’s pretty breathless, and Blue isn’t much better, even as he tries to hide his arousal with a glare. “I’m a _master_ of manipulation—”

“And you didn’t bring a jacket on a fall night in Naboo?” Zero laughs, nonetheless helping Blue out of a sleeve he’s swimming in, “Try again.”

“I-I figured we’d be mostly indoors!”

“Never stopped you from complaining about how cold it was before.”

Blue pouts, petulant, but his lips are still kiss-reddened and his eyes still hazy, all the more obvious when his glasses are tossed aside. It’s a good look, Zero thinks, and he’d like to see it more. In more contexts. What can he say? Deep down, he’s a thirsty bitch. 

Maybe not so deep down. His erection hasn’t softened any, even with the pause. Zero ducks down to scoop Blue back into a kiss, trying to distract him from his obvious issue for as long as he can. Despite his bold initiation, he _does_ want Blue to have some control, and not only in a sexy way. He doesn’t want to be too pushy, and certainly doesn’t want to push Blue to do anything he’d be unsure of. Doesn’t want to scare him off with his dick. 

As far as Zero can tell so far, though, Blue isn’t particularly unsure of anything. He’s re-melting, into Zero rather back into a door, draping himself over his much broader frame. As a side effect, though, his thigh brushes up against Zero’s groin, and there’s just the split second where he holds his breath. 

And then Blue mindlessly bumps his own hips against Zero’s, equally interested. Zero growls, matched by a wispy moan from Blue, as the spark from when their lips first touched turns into a smoldering fire. Despite the addictive nature of kissing Blue, the building heat as their tongues twine, Zero has to pull back, just for a second. Just far enough to whisper against Blue’s lips, “Bed.” He hums uncertainly, hurriedly adding, “That is, if you—”

“Yeah,” Blue breathes, just as confident as ever, _“Yes.”_

Stumbling back into a dim room is a team effort, only made harder by the distracting noises Blue makes as Zero nibbles his lip, but they get to their destination eventually. Not without collateral damage, but the scuff on Zero’s helmet as one of them, who knows which one with the confused tangle of limbs, kicks it hard enough to hit the bedframe with a resounding _clack_ is not at all important in this moment. Not when Blue squeaks as Zero hoists him up effortlessly.

He lays Blue against the sheets gingerly, like he’s fragile, because Zero can’t ever stop treating him like the priceless treasure to the universe that he seems to think he is. Zero just fuels that exaggerated sense of entitlement, but Blue is so, _so_ precious to him, now more than ever, so it’s not like he can just _stop._ Especially when Blue preens at being handled like the royalty that he only _technically_ is, slinging his arms around Zero’s shoulders and pecking butterfly kisses across his face. 

On the hide meshed with metal that has been untouched for years, save for the harsh, painful glide of surgical steel, the softness of Blue’s lips feel divine. Almost overwhelmingly good, to the point where Zero can’t stop the purr that vibrates through his chest. 

Blue abruptly pulls away, and for a moment Zero is concerned, until he blurts out, “You can _purr?”_

It is, unfortunately, a subconscious reaction, so it’s not like Zero can do much to stop it from wavering his voice as he incredulously replies, “Yes?”

“How—How has this never come up?”

Zero rolls his eyes. “You don’t usually do things that make me wanna purr, _boss.”_ Blue blushes just a little harder at the title. Maybe annoyance, maybe something else, given the context. Zero files that away for later. “I guess making out with a cute boy is a pleasant enough event to cause it,” he half-jokes in a murmur, nosing at Blue’s neck. 

“I’m not— _oh.”_ Zero could see the objection from a mile away, and he nips at Blue’s delicate pulse point to drive it off. It not only works to shut him up, but Blue’s hands on his back urgently twist into the fabric of his shirt. _“Ugh,”_ he whines, “Too many…”

If there’s one thing Zero didn’t expect going into this, is that Blue would be so demanding, despite his apparent nerves. He’s a good multitasker, though, and between startled, hitched breaths at the sharp prick of Zero’s teeth, he’s restlessly tugging his shirt up to better claw through the course, golden fur he reveals. Blue keeps his nails neatly trimmed, short and blunt, and the hide is thicker there, but Zero somehow still feels like he’ll see flecks of blood underneath his nails when his hands pull away. The scratches feels broad, less like being cleanly sliced and more like being _flayed._

With a hiss, Zero sits up to discard his bunched shirt. He gets about two buttons down his collar when Blue gets impatient and just pushes him over. In any normal situation, Blue’s meager strength would just be as laughable as a weak gust of wind, but Zero’s pliant and unbalanced and goes down quickly. He’s pushed up to the headboard, which is lined with a frankly ridiculous number of pillows. It’s pretty awesome. Doubly pleasant once Blue climbs to straddle him. 

Blue helps with the buttons, but just barely with shaky hands. And then, as if suddenly remembering what the situation is leading to, goes shy and tense as soon as Zero’s torso is exposed, freezing. “Hey,” Zero says, trying to hide his own twinge of insecurity under the softening purr, “We don’t have to—”

“I know!” Blue almost yells, pitched high. He takes a moment to breath and collect himself, “I know. It’s just… Like, I do. Want to, I mean. But I’ve never done so before and the logistics aren’t exactly _obvious_ so what if I do something wrong or I don’t like it or—”

“Then we stop and figure it out, it ain’t gotta be complicated.” He brings his organic hand to gently touch Blue’s jaw, urging him to face back forward, “Besides, you’ve been doing fine. You’ve just gotta follow your instincts. What’s your gut telling you to do?”

“Vomit, a little.”

_“Not the anxiety._ Just. Whatever you want to do right now, just do it.”

Blue looks at him cautiously and raises a hand to hover in the neutral space between them. Then, seemingly steeling himself, firmly places it over the bared musculature of Zero’s abdomen. The muscle jumps a little, just from the unfamiliar sensation of simply being touched without layers of material as a buffer, but Zero heads off whatever concern Blue may have in response by grabbing his wrist to keep it where it is and breathing, _“Good.”_

That earns him a fun little shiver. He seals their lips together and untucks Blue’s shirt enough to reciprocate and slip his fingers under. His advice must stick, or at least he’s thoroughly distracted Blue from his worries, because the hand on his stomach is joined by its twin, slowly tracing up the hard, corded muscle, across abrupt planes of robotics without pause (and, _oh,_ if that doesn’t make his heart sing). He again wonders how long Blue’s wanted to touch him, because, based on how methodical he is in mapping the dips and contours of Zero’s abs, the answer seems to be _a lot_ longer than he initially thought. He indulges Blue a little, rolling his shoulders to get his shirt all the way off, flexing under Blue’s hands. 

Zero rips the glove off his organic hand to get the dexterity to undo the buttons of Blue’s shirt without fumbling like a teen—slowly enough to give him time to refuse, but Blue’s too busy figuring out every little thing he can do with his mouth that makes Zero huff. He’s getting good at letting his lips close around Zero’s tongue as it pulls back. It’s not hard to rile Zero up—he _is_ a gank—but Blue’s always been _particularly_ skilled. He’s also an idiot, so he’s probably oblivious to how much he’s testing Zero’s patience when he softly moans around a mouthful of his broad, felid tongue while his fingers dig crescents into his chest, centimeters away from the sensitive borders between electronics and flesh. 

And then he gets _squirmy,_ twitching into Zero’s touch once his shirt’s hanging loose and he has hands kneading into his skin. Blue exhales sharply at the skim of claws over his nipples, brows furrowing as if he doesn’t recognize his own reaction, and a tight grip on his hip does little to keep him from ever-so-slightly rocking into Zero’s lap. And when Zero teases a thumb under his waistband, Blue only stops moving to give him the space to presumably undo his fly. Zero separates from the kiss, giving in to a shudder at the snap of a string of saliva when he does, and mumbles, “Can I—”

_“Yes,”_ Blue groans irritably, “Just—You don’t have to _ask—”_

“I do, though,” Zero says sternly, even though he can feel himself smile at the familiar chastising in Blue’s tone, “I wanna know that you want this.” That makes Blue’s ears go red, a genuine sign of embarrassment, and one of his only obvious tells. It’s fun to draw out these reactions, and Zero chuckles, “And I’d just _love_ to hear you say it.”

“It you want me to _say it,”_ Blue sneers, making Zero delight in how many of his buttons he’s pushed, “Then I’ll _say_ that I want you to have sex with me.”

The confession bounces around Zero’s head and pools deep in his belly, and he feels like he might have short-circuited. He still has two brain cells left to rub together for a snarky remark, “Sounds like you want me to do all the work.” He starts on Blue’s trousers despite his protest.

“Considering _I’m_ the one usually doing everything around here…” Blue trails off, biting his lip to presumably try and stifle the whimper that still spills out as Zero’s knuckles brush against the obvious bulge in his underwear. The space between his thighs is hot, so hot, and just the little bit of contact makes his hips judder against Zero’s hand. And when Zero pulls his underwear down to expose him, Blue exhales sharply and whines, “No fair.”

Zero raises an eyebrow, even as he cradles Blue’s length his hand, lightly tracing his thumb up a full vein along the side, purposefully distracting. “What’s up?” he asks casually, like he’s asking about the weather. The effect is lost in how husky his voice is. It’s becoming more and more difficult to resist succumbing to carnal desires, and all he wants to do is pull Blue up to his chest and swallow his dick down to the root, just to feel the solid heat in his throat. That’d be way too much, Zero reminds himself, on a first date for Blue’s first time. He’d probably die from a heart attack, with how overactive his heart already is _at rest._

Blue’s hands scrabble at the waistband of Zero’s slacks, “You s-still— _mmnnn—!_ Karking… _pants.”_ He’s having a hard time keeping his composure already, legs twitching around Zero, bucking into whatever light touch he gets, so sensitive and so, so _greedy._ Still, he pushes at Zero’s arm weakly and groans, _“Off.”_

“Yessir,” Zero laughs. This time, he doesn’t stop to catalogue Blue’s reaction to the errant submission, because he’s too busy pulling his own pants open and releasing his cock to lay against the sharp line of his hip. The relief is better than he thought it’d be, but maybe a large part of that is just how much he neglected his own need, too fixated on every little thing Blue says and does. Zero tips his head back with a sigh. 

It’s only a moment he has to relax, because Blue’s getting bolder and, unprompted, starts to explore the contours and textures of Zero’s penis with wandering hands. He catches his fingers against the bony protrusions along the underside and dips into the little valleys between, eyes bright with fascination. And when he makes a tight circle with his fingers and pushes the swelling towards the base through, like he’s testing the firmness, Zero just about convulses. The rigid, unyielding pressure has him moaning and tearing at the sheets, and when he blinks back the stars, Blue is looking at him with awe.

“N- _now_ who’s being unfair?” he pants. Before he can get an answer, he tugs at Blue’s hips, pulling them closer together, “Here, lemme just…” Blue seems confused, but only for a moment. The second their cocks touch he’s already lost in the sensation, biting a mewl in the back of his hand. When Zero grips them together, Blue’s curves in and catches himself in his shoulder, elbows on either side of his head and gasping hotly into his neck. It’s wonderful and passionate, even with Blue clumsily thrusting against him. Zero instantly finds that he _loves_ the feeling Blue’s slight weight on his hips (and imagines that weight on his back, on his chest, on his _face…_ ), almost as much as he’s enamored with the fingers that tangle into the fur on his head, bringing them close.

He twists his wrist roughly, and Blue makes a garbled sound that Zero belated realizes is the tail end of a broken command. “Again,” Blue repeats, raspy and desperate, “Do that—” Zero does it again, “—ag- _ah, haah!”_ He’s babbling, voice completely saturated with lust. It’s the cherry on top to the already perfect sensation of Blue’s precum-slicked length against Zero’s own. 

There are flashes of bright hair and stretches of pale, freckled skin reflecting in his robotic arm as he digs bruises into Blue’s hip, making any motion seem all the more chaotic and dream-like. If it wasn’t for the sting of nails burrowing into the vulnerable hide behind his ears, he’d be convinced that this _is_ just a damn good wet dream. It’s almost unreal that, despite his inexperience, and despite Zero’s doubts, Blue can make him feel so turned on, selfishly rutting against him. 

Blue’s the one to bring their lips together again, even though he’s busying himself with mindlessly sighing praises and kriffing _orders_ into Zero’s mouth. Like, who’s the one with experience here? Zero can’t be mad, though. Right now? He _wants_ Blue to be needy. Because some shameful little part of him wants so badly to fulfill those needs. Because he likes to be _used._ Blue might not realize it, but the way he grinds into Zero’s fist with demanding moans ( _“Thuhh-_ there—nngh! I want— _yes—!”_ ) lights a fire low in his stomach. It makes the friction and intimate warmth between them so much better, almost too good.

When Zero takes a second to thumb over the bead of precum wetting the head of Blue’s dick, he can feel his knees futilely try to twitch together against his waist and his hands restlessly scrabble for purchase. He knows Blue’s close, he’s strung taut, reduced to single words and incomplete syllables into the hot space between their mouths when they gasp for breath. Zero wants to make him to come, wants to know what it’s like, and mouths along the underside of his jaw, down the long line of his throat where his jugular throbs behind a thin veil of translucent skin. He doesn’t even realize until he distantly registers a voice that isn’t Blue’s that he himself is growling, “C’mon, _c’mon…”_

Blue separates and finally stops talking. He arches inward dramatically, clawing into Zero’s chest, face twisted in what can only be described as a snarling grin, eyes snapped shut. Finally, _finally,_ a long, low moan pours from his between his clenched teeth as he comes, spilling into Zero’s hand and across his stomach.

It’s so _good,_ so much better than Zero imagined: the sinful look on Blue’s face, the twitch of his cock against Zero’s as he’s spent, the trails he burns into his chest, the distorted reflection of the space between their bodies, the _everything._ Zero thought he could maybe hold back, knowing Blue’s curiosity and wanting to indulge him. Give him that chance to explore, y’know. In the moment, he realizes that there’s no _way_ he’ll last with something like _this_ to contend with, and it doesn’t take more than a stray cant of Blue’s hips sliding his glistening length against Zero’s to set him off. His vision goes white, like fireworks behind his eyelids, and he groans through his completion. The fur on his abdomen, almost up to his chest, is going to be a sticky mess, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when he can acutely feel every point of contact with Blue, from the sting of nails digging into his pectorals to the softness of thighs on his hips.

When his mind clears, conscious of his pulse in the heavy fullness of his knot, he’s met with Blue blearily staring at his face. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his skin, his hair is all mussed up, his clothes got disheveled in his writhing, and his limbs tremble with the effort of staying upright. All evidence of their act makes Zero salivate. 

Force, he wishes he had his helmet on just to take pics.

“C’mon,” Zero echoes, softer, dazed rather than desperate. It doesn’t take more than a light tug of his elbow before Blue collapses at Zero’s side with a quiet huff. Zero’s a little disappointed that he didn’t fall on his chest all romantic-like, but, then again, they’d just get stuck together with drying jizz and _that_ isn’t really romantic. At least, not in a traditional sense.

Quiet isn’t really their style, certainly not Blue’s, but both of them need a minute to catch their breaths. Only a minute, though, because quiet _really_ isn’t their style. “Thoughts?” Zero asks, still breathless. Blue snorts, too tired to properly laugh, and Zero finds a little pride in that. “Questions? Critiques? I’ll take it in letterhead if you think that’s more professional.”

Blue rolls his eyes, “Professional, sure.” His voice sounds a little wrecked, like he finally found a limit to how much he can speak. It’s gravelly, and kind of sexy. At least, as sexy as Blue’s grating voice can get. Zero thinks that it’d be sexier if he wasn’t an annoying brat, but maybe he’s just got a thing for baritones. “Professional critique:” he mumbles, pulling his shirt from around his shoulders to frown at, in its crumpled, sweat-stained state, “Clothes don’t work well for this.”

“The whole ‘too rushed to take your clothes off’ thing is pretty choice.”

Blue considers this. “Hm, maybe,” he concludes, kicking his pants and underwear off. Zero finishes undressing at his own pace, slow to reveal the patchwork of metal plates and connections amongst the wiry fur of his mangled legs. Blue’s seen it all, but never really all at once, and the intimacy makes Zero nervous. Still, the effort is there, and he tosses his trousers aside.

Blue unceremoniously flops across his chest. He’s silent, uncharacteristically so, face hidden from view, and Zero worries until Blue pokes his knot and asks, “What’s that?” It doesn’t _hurt,_ but he hisses with the tiny shock of overstimulation, “Don’t just _touch it.”_

“Why not?”

“It’s all sensitive and stuff,” Zero grumbles, taking Blue’s exploring hand to rest on his chest, where it can’t go around prodding at him like a kid’s science experiment. He’s experienced enough of that in his life up until this point, thank-you-very-much.

Blue looks back up at him, a little indignant, mostly sleepy. “But what _is_ it?”

“It’s a knot, Blue.”

“What does it _do?”_

“It—Hold up, did you actually have _any_ sex-ed? I don’t remember ever seeing your tutors tell you anything about sex.”

“Huh,” Blue furrows his brow, thinking, “I don’t think so?”

“God, okay,” Zero mumbles. He wracks his head a little, which is hard when it’s absolutely flooded with post-coital hormones that make him brainless and warm. _“Okay._ So when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much—”

“I know how _reproduction_ works,” Blue snaps, though the edge is lost to the tease of tenderness tinting his interruption.

“Right, genital into genital.”

“I don’t see what your—what did you call it, a knot?—has to do with… I dunno, meiosis. Or whatever.”

“Meiosis—It has _nothing_ to do with meiosis.” Zero bites back the urge to call Blue a dipshit, mostly because he’s afraid what’d slip out instead is some sappy pet name. “But it like... hm. It keeps the jizz kinda… up in there. Bigger chance of pregnancy ‘cause nothing’s falling out. Something, something, also prevents competition, I guess. You never really got the hang of evolution.”

“I did, I just think it’s inefficient.”

“That’s literally your excuse for why you don’t get _any_ bio.”

“And it universally applies.”

Zero rolls his eyes affectionately and pets his clean, inorganic hand through Blue’s hair. Humans can’t purr, but the soft hum that escapes Blue makes Zero think of it just the same. “Gonna need a shower soon,” he coos.

Blue’s eyes have started to close, but he opens one to glance sleepily up at Zero. “Later,” he murmurs, stubbornly rubbing his cheek against Zero’s chest, “Nap time.”

“Don’t you mean sleep?”

“Never sleep,” Blue concludes, but his breathing is slow and even, and the near-constant caffeinated twitch of his limbs is dying down.

“Of course,” Zero smiles, letting his head fall back against the pillows, settling in, “Then I’ll see you after your nap, minister.”

Blue grumbles as he dozes off, some protest against the title, but Zero doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy thinking about the warm puffs of breath against his neck. Thinking about what the morning will look like. Maybe it’ll be awkward, or maybe it’ll be sweet, but at least, in this moment, falling asleep with a warm, soft body at his side, Zero can enjoy the moments before his dreams overtake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely not in the same universe as _He's My Collar,_ if it wasn't obvious from the start.
> 
> In _this_ universe, Blue might be able to dom!
> 
> Posting this while guarding valuable artwork because, despite what movies tell you, this is a _very_ boring job.


End file.
